Walker of the Mojave
by Archangel Unionhack
Summary: Follow the adventures of Frost, Courier and Adventurer, as he traverses the desert wasteland to reclaim what was stolen from him, and to find his purpose in the harsh, post-apocalyptic world. (Novelization of my Courier's adventures in New Vegas. M for the general content of New Vegas itself.)
1. Prologue

Dust. Muttering. Ropes. Bound wrists. Talking.

"You got whatchu were after, so pay up."

"You're crying in the rain, paley."

I blink slowly. Blood in my face. Blow to the head. Everything hurts. I glance around with my eyes, trying not to move my head. Leather boots, a shovel, a shallow grave.

A shallow grave?

"Guess who's waking up over here?" says one of the voices. One that I didn't hear before. I figure there's no point in staying on the ground; slowly I rose my head and looked at the three looking over what was apparently my burial. Two tribal looking men in dirty leather jackets, and one man in a clean checkered suit, with styled, slick black hair. Looks to be straight out of the pre-war films.

He reaches into his suit. "Time to cash out." He says.

"Would you get it over with?" says one of the tribals. Obviously getting antsy.

The checkered suit man raises his hand. "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"

Slowly he pulls out what he was reaching for; a poker chip, made from a precious metal. The Platinum Chip. My Platinum Chip. My delivery.

"You've made your last delivery kid." He says, flashing the chip in front of me almost mockingly. "Sorry you got twisted up in this scene."

He puts the chip back in his suit and reaches for something else. "From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck."

He pulls out a pistol. Engraved, decorated, obviously unique. 9 millimeter. Enough to easily kill a man.  
"But, truth is..." he mutters, pointing the gun at my face.

"The game was rigged from the start."

A blast. Everything goes white. Silence.

So that's how I got here. That's the beginning of it all, anyway. Like so many other caravaneers, couriers, or anyone else carrying valuables through the Mojave, I get shot down mere hours before hitting New Vegas. So close, yet so far.  
Only difference is, I made it out alive. How, I have no clue. Unreal luck, a bad shot, divine intervention. No matter what the cause, I lived. Barely, but I'm here now. Not many people with gunshot wounds to the head get to say that.

This story, my story, starts in the town of Goodsprings. It's a stone's throw from the cemetery where I got shot; maybe that's why I was lucky enough to be found. Like all towns out in the wastes, there ain't shit around. Barely enough water, and food tastes like radroach ass. In other words, it's a huge improvement over most of the communities out there. The best part about it is the beacon of hope in the distance. New Vegas casts a light upon the sky, as if a beacon calling all those who wish to escape from daily hellish realities of their lives. Even for just a night, a man can feel like a king, bathing in the glories of the Old World. Of course these ventures always end with less money in the pockets than before, but the journey's the important thing, right?

New Vegas, the last bastion of the splendor of the Old World. A place for dreamers and schemers, thrill-seekers and killers, and men and women throughout the Mojave. Where fortunes are gained and lost within minutes, and a surprise waits around just about every corner. It's almost enough to make someone forget the death, distress, and the gamma radiation.

What can I say? It's my kind of town. But as I said, that's not where all of this begins. It begins in the house of 'Doc' Mitchell, the resident doctor of Goodsprings. The second of the two people who saved my life from that unfortunate night in the cemetery.

My name is Frost. I'm a courier; the best damn one to ever walk the desert. And I come from beyond the grave.


	2. 1 - Ghost Town Gunfight

One light to another was all that my eyes had seen. One moment I was seeing the flash from the barrel of a gun, then the next I was staring up at a ceiling fan in some unfamiliar place; a well-built house, by wasteland standards. The first thing I thought was 'why do I have such a damn headache?', and I kept that train of thought until I finally remembered. I had been shot point blank in the face, and yet here I was. Was it a dream? Is the afterlife a wasteland shack or something?

A voice took me out of my racing thoughts. "Well, look who's finally waking up?" said someone to my left. I turned my head and saw a bald man, easily in his 60's, dressed like a farmer but obviously in the medical field. Slowly I rose up to a sitting position. The doctor placed a hand on my shoulder to steady me in case I was dizzy or something; I brushed it off as my vision suddenly blurred.

"Easy there." He said. "You've been out cold for a couple of days. Guess that's not so bad considering what you went through."

The doctor pulled out a clipboard, rife with medical jargon and the like that I didn't understand. "What's your name? Can you tell me your name?"

"Frost." I replied. I always liked my name. While the rest of the names out there in the wasteland include your old pre-war names like John, Jake, Dave, and Andrew or something, mine always stood out. My parents weren't the most orthrodox people, and it showed in my name.

The doc wrote my name down, skipping over the 'last name' space. "Hm. Not what I would have picked for you, but if that's your name, that's your name. I'm Doc Mitchell, and I'm the one who stitched you up." Said the doctor, handing me a small machine. "I did the best I could with rearranging your features after getting all those bits of lead out, so let me know how I did. Alright?"

I peered into the machine, which was basically a mirror with a few indications about my personal health and features. Caucasian male, long swept-back brown hair, blue eyes, stubble in the shape of a beard on my face. Yeah, that looked about right. I hadn't remembered the last time I had looked in the mirror, but the doc did a pretty kickass job. Pre-war medical technology was probably behind the near-absence of damage from the bullet; the only thing left visible from that was a scar just parallel to my left eye. "Looks great, doc." I said, handing the machine back to Mitchell.

"Great." He said, getting up from his chair and helping me out of bed. "Now. See if you can walk to that contraption over there against the wall. See if your motor abilities are still workin'."

I did as I was told and approached the Vit-O-Matic Vigor Tester. An old machine used before the war that basically rated your physical features and your intelligence with the press of a button. "Go ahead and give it a try." said Doc Mitchell, and so I did. I pressed the button and I felt a buzz. The machine sent a pulse through me and started calculating.

Soon after, the buzz stopped and the numbers starting showing up on the results panel. 4 S, 7 P, 4 E, 6 C, 6 I, 8 A, and 5 L. Strength, perception, endurance, charisma, intelligence, agility, and luck. I was always more agile than I was strong. More of a blessing if you ask me.

"Most patients don't get out of bed after being shot and then move like they were in perfect control. You're unusual, I'll say that." Doc Mitchell mused, obviously satisfied with his handiwork. "Now come see for a bit. We'll run a few psychological tests, see if your dogs are still barking."

I wanted nothing more than to get out of the clinic and go looking for the man who shot me, but I owed it to the doc to stay and go through his tests. He saved my life after all. I followed him into the next room and had a seat on the couch as he placed a few odd pictures on a stand, pictures that looked like random ink splotches. After answering his questions and telling him what the pictures looked like, he wrote down more things on his clipboard. "You've definitely got some good reflexes; I bet you're a damn sharpshooter with a gun. Got a quick tongue too, and you seem like you know your way around fixing things. But how about you look over the results, see if they're all correct?" he asked, handing me the filled-out clipboard.

I ran over the results. It all seemed in place. I nodded and handed the board back. "Yeah, it looks fine."

Doc Mitchell smiled and stood up. "Alright then. Let's get you out of here." He said, leading me to the door of his clinic. Once there, he picked up a pack and handed it to me."Here, this is all yours. I hope you don't mind that I looked through; I wanted to see if I could find a next of kin, but I couldn't find anything."

Of course he didn't. Even if he did, it wouldn't have done any good. My family, when they were all still alive, lived down in the swamps of what used to be Louisiana. They wouldn't be known out here in Nevada.

I accepted my things and slung the pack over my back. I definitely wished now that I had packed more than a 9 millimeter pistol with me for the trip. Maybe with a bigger gun, I wouldn't have gotten caught up in this mess in the first place. Then the doc held up something I definitely didn't recognize.

"This here is a Pip-Boy." He said, fastening it on my wrist. "I lived in one of them vaults when I was a boy, and we all got one. It's like a personal computer that does all sorts of useful things. I have no need of it, but I figured you could use such a thing."

I felt the Pip-Boy tighten to perfectly fit onto my wrist as it registered itself to me. The screen said "Biometric lock engaged", which I guess meant that no one was going to be getting my Pip-Boy off anytime soon.

"Doc, this is great." I said, truly thankful. I had heard about Pip-Boys and how they were a piece of wonder technology, able to do all sorts of things to assist the wearer. This was a remarkable gift. "Thanks for patching me up.

"Ah, don't mention it." Said Doc Mitchell. "Now get on out there, alright? Go ask around town about where you need to go; maybe check with the metal robot feller who dug you up. And if you ever need patching up, you know where to find me."

The doc patted my back and smiled. I slipped on the traveling clothes I had in my pack and stepped on out of the clinic.

The sunlight hit me like a fist to the face. I immediately realized that I had forgot to put on my lucky shades, and fumbled through my pack until I finally located them and slipped them on my face. Back in Louisiana where I grew up, sunlight never really shone through. A whole bunch of fog and old trees create a canopy over the swamps that block out most of the natural sunlight. As a result, most of us have very sensitive eyes, and need sunglasses in the open sun. Now able to see, I peered around. A billboard not too far into the distance said 'welcome to Goodsprings'. So unless the townspeople had renamed the town in the 200 plus years after the bombs had dropped, then Goodsprings was where I was.

I headed down the hill from the doc's clinic and immediately saw the 'metal feller' that he was talking about; a large, bulky robot rolling around on a single wheel. It had a screen on his body that showed a cartoonish cowboy face. "Well I'll be!" said the robot in a stereotypical western voice as he wheeled over. "I knew the doc was good, but hot damn, you got better quick!"

This robot was loaded with some serious programming. It spoke just as well as a human. "Hey there." I said to it. "Are you the one who saved me from the grave?"

"You betcha, partner! Name's Victor! Securitron model 2060-B" he said, doing the best bow he could with his robotic form. "What can I do you for?"

"The man who shot me. What can you tell me about him?" I asked Victor, assuming he knew about the incident.

"Well, from where I could see when the whole deal went down, and judging by that checkered suit, it had to be Benny." Victor replied. "Benny, the leader of the Chairmen down in New Vegas. Those fellers who own the Tops Casino."

I had never been to New Vegas itself. Heard about it, but never learned much about the groups who led it, so I had never heard of the Chairmen before. "Who are these Chairmen? Why did they steal my delivery?" I asked.

"Well, the Chairmen are one of the three tribes that run New Vegas." Victor replied. "You've got the Chairmen of the Tops Casino, the Omertas of Gomorrah Casino, and the White Glove Society of the Ultra-Luxe Casino and Hotel. They're all high and mighty, but it's Mr. House that calls the shots. As for why Benny attacked you, I have no clue. But that feller has a reputation for doing his own thing. It might not be the Chairmen after your little chip. It might have just been Benny."

The Platinum Chip was important, but I had no clue why. I looked up at Victor's screen and nodded with a smile. "Thank you, Victor. You're very helpful."

"Hey now, partner. After what you've been through, you probably deserve some answers right about now. How about you head on down to the Saloon, get some info on where Benny and his boys went off to?" Victor suggested.

"I'll do that. Thanks." I replied, turning and heading to the Saloon. I nodded to the old man sitting in a rocking chair just outside of the front door and stepped in, immediately smiling as I heard the old tunes on the jukebox blaring above the sparse conversation in the saloon. An armed woman sat in a chair with a dog right next to her, obviously her pet. I was about to strike up a conversation to find out if she knew anything, when suddenly I heard yelling from the bar.

I turned and peered around the wall, seeing a man dressed up in what seemed to be a prisoner outfit with security armor on top, yelling at a woman who was likely the barkeep. "Listen here. If you don't hand over Ringo, me and my buddies are gonna come and torch this town to the ground. Got it?" he said, leaning forward as if to menace her.

"Right, got it." She said, not intimidated in the slightest. "Now if you're not going to buy anything, get out!" she said, slapping him across the face. The man reeled and looked at her angrily, as if to strike back, but turned and angrily stormed out of the bar, pushing me aside as he did so.

Dusting off where he had pushed me, I approached the bar and took a seat. "Hey there." I said, looking at the barkeep. "What was that all about?"

She turned to me, smiling as she saw who I was. Her name tag said 'Trudy'. "Ah, you're the fella that Doc Mitchell patched up, huh? Good to see you're up and walking." She said, her face immediately dropping the smile as the conversation shifted to the man that just stormed out. "That there was Joe Cobb, one of those damn Powder Gangers. They say they're after this caravaneer who owes them money, and he holed up somewhere 'round here so they'd leave him alone. We've been hiding him for days, and the Powder Gangers are getting antsy to barge in and find him."

I knew what kind of people the Powder Gangers were. A little more civilized than your common wasteland raider, but not much better morally. Assholes, filth, degenerates who prey on others who can hardly fend for themselves. There was no way I was going to leave the town to its own devices against them. "Where's Ringo? I want to help."

"Look, I'm not going to tell just any stranger where-"

"I want to help all of you. I don't want the town to get torched."

Trudy sighed. "He's in the old gas station. Check there."

"Thank you, Trudy." I replied as I stood up. I could answers about Benny later. What was important was getting Goodsprings out of this mess. I left the bar and headed to the gas station, which was right next to the clinic.

Immediately after opening the door I was greeted with a gun in my face. "Who the hell are you and what do you want?" said the man holding the gun, who could only be Ringo.

"Put the gun down. I'm not here to hurt you." I said, crossing my arms.

Ringo lowered his pistol slowly. "Sorry about that. I can never be too careful with those Powder Gangers out to get me."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Ringo." I said. "They're going to be attacking the town soon. As the one they're after, I think you need to be out there, helping the fight."

"So they really are heading after me, huh? And here I figured that they'd be too scared to show their faces. Alright, I'll help. But we're going to need more people. Between you and me, we won't do much good." Ringo said, leaning against an old shelf.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" I asked.

"Talk to people in town. Sunny Smiles might help us. She's usually in the saloon with her dog. Trudy, the barkeep, might be of some help. She has a lot of pull with the people in the town, and she might be able to strike up a small militia. Then there's Easy Pete the prospector, who has a stock of dynamite we could use. Doc Mitchell has medical supplies, and Chet at the general store might have some armor for us to use. Talk to all of them and we'll see how well we can last."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll be back." I responded, waving and heading out.

I spent the rest of the afternoon chatting and talking with people to recruit our little militia. Sunny Smiles immediately agreed for the same reasons I did, and Trudy was able to talk a few of the townspeople into taking up arms. Easy Pete (the man in the rocking chair that I had met earlier) didn't give up his dynamite; perhaps if I had known a little more about explosives he would have; but he did agree to help us in the firefight. Doc Mitchell pledged his medical supplies despite being angry about people never ceasing to leave each other alone, and I was able to talk Chet into handing over his shipment of leather armor. In the end, four townspeople agreed to fight alongside me and Ringo; Sunny Smiles, Trudy, Easy Pete, and Chet.

I strapped on my leather armor as the sun was going down, inspecting the new Cowboy Repeater that I had got at the store with my last few caps. It was a decent gun, more than enough to handle the creatures out in the wastes, and it would do against a few raiders.

I heard a loud knock; I called for whoever it was to come in, and Sunny came in. "Time to look alive! The Powder Gangers are here. Everyone's stationed at the saloon."

"Got it." I said, rising from my seat and readying my gun. "Let's go." I said, letting her lead out of the little shack that I had set up in.

I could see the blue prisoner jackets in the distance; at least 8 or 9 men; as I ran to cover, right next to Easy Pete and Ringo as Sunny joined Trudy and Doc Mitchell behind some barrels on the saloon patio. As soon as the Powder Gangers were close enough, we began firing. The Gangers made their way to their own cover, and soon a full-blown firefight erupted in the middle of the town.

Leaning over cover, I fired at a single man leaning out of cover, catching him in between the eyes. He fell to the ground, dropping a small red object; a stick of dynamite. Easy Pete must have seen it too, because as soon as I caught eye of it, he yelled out "They've got dynamite!" as a warning to the rest of us.

I returned to cover as a bullet whizzed over me. Soon after, a loud bang shattered a few windows in one of the houses; they had started throwing their dynamite. By now I was sure that Easy Pete was regretting that we didn't take his dynamite out of wherever it was buried.

Chet fired his Magnum Revolver, catching one of the Powder Gangers fatally in the chest. Thankfully, only their leader; Joe Cobb, the man who was arguing with Trudy; was armored, while our entire militia had at least some sort of leather armor as protection. Doc Mitchell shot the arm of another convict, stopping his advance long enough for Sunny and Trudy to finish him off.

By now, our militia's morale was sky high. We were beating the Powder Gangers and we knew it; our numbers were pretty much even by now. Easy Pete shouted a "Woo!" as he leaned over cover to shoot another; instead a spurt of blood shot out of his forehead and he fell to the ground, killed instantly by Joe Cobb's bullet.

"SHIT!" Ringo shouted as he took Easy Pete's gun; he wouldn't need it anymore, after all. We all got the feeling of victory out of our heads as we saw Easy Pete fall, as if it was a reminder that we hadn't won yet. I looked back up for a second and saw that Joe Cobb was no longer in sight; he must've taken cover. I quickly rolled out from behind the crates we were hiding behind and dashed for cover behind an old house, barely missing the bullets whizzing past me. I pressed my back against the wall and reloaded my gun.

Suddenly, Joe Cobb emerged from around the corner of the house, drawing a combat knife and lunging at me. I caught his arm and fell to the ground, taking him with me. I pushed against his arm, trying to keep the knife away from my neck, but it was a losing battle; he stronger than I was, even if by only a bit.

A shot rang out and Cobb dropped the knife; Doc Mitchell had shot him in the arm, seeing my predicament. Seizing the opportunity, I grabbed the knife and plunged it into his neck, pulling it out as his life bled away. Pushing Cobb's corpse off and pocketing the knife, I returned to the fight.

The convicts were unloading all of the dynamite. Easy Pete's house crumbled in the face of several badly thrown sticks, sending rubble all over the place; Trudy narrowly avoided a large piece of concrete. The time for firing was now, lest the entire town be reduced to rubble.

I leaned out of cover again and unloaded an entire clip on one of the convicts, sending his corpse to the ground and making one of his allies lose hope and run; after two shots to the leg and chest from Sunny, his running was ceased.

Another spray of blood from our side, this time not fatal; Ringo had been shot in the shoulder, dropping his gun. Trudy beckoned that he get under cover to gather himself as the rest of us continued the firing; the last two Powder Gangers were finally taken care of, leaving the town quiet.

After the Powder Ganger corpses were cleaned up and looted of anything useful to the town, a short service was held for Easy Pete in the graveyard, where he was buried in a grave right next to where I had been buried. An engraved metal headstone was placed with his name on it, and he was buried with his old pickaxe, the object he could never be separated from.

I walked back to the saloon a hero, people congratulating me on saving the town and taking down Cobb. The Powder Gangers wouldn't be coming back; the group that attacked was a small splinter group that was relatively far from their base at an old correctional facility. People bought me drinks, food, and my first day after waking up in the clinic was shaping up to be quite nice. I knew I wouldn't be able to stay long, though, for catching up to Benny was my main goal. After talking to Ringo, he thanked me for saving his life, and directed me to the Crimson Caravan service should I ever be short on work. Trudy also rewarded me with information; Benny and his men had gone off in the direction of Primm to the south, and intended to loop around to the east and then go north to New Vegas. The direct north passage to new Vegas, a few miles directly north of Goodsprings, had been completely infested by Deathclaws, and I wasn't about to go get torn to shreds by those demons just to beat Benny to Vegas.

My next stop was the town of Primm, which meant going south into Powder Ganger territory, where I would find more convicts to shoot and more dynamite to dodge. The sad thing is, that was the easy part about the road to New Vegas.


	3. 2 - Burning of the Bison

That night, after a long nap in the Saloon, I said my farewells to the townsfolk and set out down the road for Primm. I have to admit that I had gotten a little attached to the town after all they had done for me, and I promised them that I would return at some point after my business with Benny was done. But for now, I had to be off.

I took to the all-to familiar task of trekking down the road. The wind was harsh, the local wildlife was making annoying noise, and I would care less about the temperature. But who the hell was I to complain? I was alive. Not many people get shot in the face and get to brag about that.

With the repeater and leather armor I had bought from Chet, any animal that came up to me looking for a quick snack of human flesh was easy to take down. For once I felt like I was in control of the situation. It felt good, to have some measure of power in a world full of people who would do anything just to get ahead of another. It all seemed like a normal trek down the road, but little did I know that something was going to happen that night that would change my life.

I had passed an old gas station when I heard a boot scuffle. I assumed raiders instantly (always expect the worst), drew my gun, and turned to the station. I heard another shuffle of feet and then a grunt that sounded like it came from a woman. I raced over, trying to be as quiet as possible without wasting time. Sure enough, behind the station were two Powder Gangers and a young woman, the latter two attempting to force themselves on her. Moral degenerates. Before they could see me, I blasted the one farthest away from the woman as to avoid hitting her, and then rushed in. I gripped my repeater and attempted to hit the Powder Ganger in the face with the butt of the gun, but he caught it and sliced at my side with his drawn knife. I felt the knife tear leather, but it was a weak enough strike to where I took no wound from it.

Before I could make another move against the Ganger, he was thrown to the ground and leaped upon by the young woman that he was in the process of raping earlier. Ferociously she began doing what I can only describe as beating the shit out of him; ripping hair, breaking his nose, trying to crush his windpipe, and trying to cause as much damage as she possibly could. She continued slamming her fist into the man's face even after he stopped moving, and by the time she stopped, his face was little more than a red, pulpy mass. Sometimes I forget the damage that the human fists can do.

The young woman slowly got up, barely clothed, and turned to me with the Ganger's looted knife pointed at me. "What do you want? Are you another of them, too impatient to get your turn? Is that it?"

I got a good look at her. She had jet black hair that fell a little past her shoulders and tan skin, and she was of obvious asian descent. Her eyes were a bright amber, almost a bright orange. On her cheeks were markings akin to the stripes that old world football players would paint on their cheeks before a game; she was obviously a tribal. Who else but a tribal could have done that to a man's face so quickly and so efficiently?

"Easy now." I said, dropping my rifle to the ground. Probably a stupid move, but I wanted to make sure she understood that I meant her no harm. "I'm not a raider. I'm a courier. I couldn't leave you alone with those two. I had to do something." I said, trying to get her to back down. Her eyes widened at the mention of the word 'courier'; apparently that was all I needed to say, because she lowered her knife then and there.

"Courier?" she asked, pocketing the knife and going over to pick up what was left of her shredded clothes. "From where?"

From where? I didn't know how to answer that. I remember my travels from all over the place, but for some reason, I wasn't able to remember what I had done before delivering the Platinum Chip. It must have been from the gunshot from Benny that had done something to damage my recent memory. I guess Doc Mitchell couldn't fix everything. I decided to use a generic answer. "I'm from Louisiana, but I got my job from the south and took the road north to get to Vegas. Things aren't really going to plan and I'm going after my stolen delivery."

"Yours as well, then?" the girl asked. "Let me guess. A silver die? A bronze roulette ball? Some kind of nonsensical object that was somehow important?"

I nodded. "A platinum chip. How did you know?"

The young woman put a pair of old jeans that were now ripped along the thighs, and robbed one of the convicts of his black jacket with some bandoliers slung over each shoulder. It was a little big on her, but it was better than the little she had earlier. "My name is Naomi. You might know me as 'Courier Three'. You and I were on the same delivery job, delivering the odd items. I was given a chess piece; a Golden Rook. Some men from the Khans took it and..." she said, pausing with obvious pain in her eyes. "...well, you stopped it from happening again. Let's leave it at that."

I nodded to Naomi. "Fair enough. My name is Frost. Courier Six. What are you doing this far south?"

"Trying to take the long road to Vegas. The way north is full of Deathclaws, I wouldn't reccommend it." she replied. "I've got to get those Khan bastards back for what they did to me, but I have to find out where they are first. Vegas is probably my best bet."

I crossed my arms, lifting an eyebrow. "Then me and you have similar goals. I got a bullet to the face from a Chairman with some Khans accompanying him. I'm on my way to find him now. His name's Benny and he needed by Chip for something."

Naomi nodded. "I would accompany you, if that is acceptable to you. Together we will have an easier time making it through the Mojave."

How could I refuse? I couldn't let that happen to her again. I was surprised that she had ever been caught of guard in the first place with how ferocious she was when pissed off, and I figured that she would be good in a fight. Tribals usually are. "Alright then, Naomi." I said, offering her a hand. As she shook it I noticed that her grip was shaking. She seemed to be trying to project an air of sophistication and independence, but I could tell that she really just needed some company.

I knew that other couriers had been hired for jobs similar to mine, but I still had no idea what was so important about all of these things. If someone was paying Khans and possibly other thugs to kill couriers for them, it must have been worth something at least. I was getting interested in what my Platinum Chip did, and by now I was almost less interested in completing the delivery and more interested in finding just what I had been caught up in when I was hired to carry it.

Naomi and I finished picking the Powder Ganger camp clean of supplies and food, as well as picking up a few new weapons. For myself, I found an old hunting revolver in extremely poor condition, but it was probably good for another few dozen shots, and that was more than enough for the enemies on the way to Primm. For Naomi, a sawed-off shotgun and a shoddy 10mm pistol, also good enough for the road to Primm. Once we were set up for the road, we started our way farther south.

Nearly an hour later, as the sun was rising, we both spotted the town of Primm, easily seen due to the abandoned roller coaster tracks outside, It was also easy to see that something was wrong with the town. Fires lit outside, a silhouette of an armed man walking on top of the roller coaster tracks, and a few gunshot noises in the distance all clued us in that someone had taken over the town. My guess was either raiders or NCR troopers, and didn't particularly care for dealing with either of them.

"Let's head in and keep our heads about us. If it's raiders or Powder Gangers then we'll need to be ready for them. If it's NCR then we'll have to be ready for some assholes who think that wearing a uniform makes them better than other people." I said to Naomi, who silently nodded. She looked tired, but she had repeatedly denied my offers of taking a rest before. As we crept closer, I took a closer look at the town through my hunting revolver's scope, focusing on the man standing atop the tracks.

Dressed in regular merc clothing. Better equipped than a raider. Definitely one of the escaped convicts from the correctional facility. I was still too far to take a shot, but he was definitely able to see us from that height if he had turned his head. In the interest of not being shot at before we even made it into the town, I looked to Naomi and motioned her to follow me and take cover behind a boulder. After pressing ourselves against our cover, I leaned out and took aim with my revolver once more.

Naomi peered at the town with her own two eyes. "I doubt that they'll start a full-scale defense if they lose one man. Besides, I see NCR outside the town. They've probably got the raiders trapped in there. Take the shot.

I lifted my eyebrows, impressed by her sense of perception, and nodded. It was then when I decided to try something new; I reached towards my left wrist and pressed a button on my Pip Boy for the VATS system, and immediately I felt my body being forced to aim correctly at the man on top of the tracks. The Pip-Boy was taking over my arms and adjusting my aim for the shot; once I was sure that I was directly on target, I pulled the trigger and felt the effects of VATS wear off. The next thing I heard was a faint, sickening explosion and the sound of a body and several pieces of what used to be a cranium hitting the ground.

"Nice shot. Now our approach is covered." Naomi confirmed, holstering her new pistol and standing. I nodded in agreement and together we walked to the entrance, where we were stopped by an NCR trooper. He looked young and weary, as all of those poor bastards in the NCR army do.

"Hold it. Primm is currently a danger zone." he said, raising his hand to stop us. "Currently it's full of escaped convicts from the correctional facility. All the inhabitants of the town are either dead or in hiding at the casino. You'd be better off going around."

I suppose we could have just gone around and kept going along our way to Vegas, but I didn't quite like the idea of leaving this town to the wolves. The NCR definitely wasn't going to do anything about it; they never charge into a hot-zone without a 2-to-1 advantage; and I figured that if the Powder Gangers were already pissed at me, a few more dead bastards wasn't going to hurt things.

"We can handle ourselves." I replied, turning to Naomi. "Feel like helping a few people out? I won't force you to stay if you'd rather go around, but I'm not leaving these people alone if there's any chance that I can save them."

Naomi shook her head. "I agree. I'll stay with you. I'd rather not have my only traveling companion go into a city full of convicts alone. Besides, I think I owe them." she said, and I nodded in confirmation. It was settled then.

The NCR guard sighed. "I'm not here to stop you, I'm just here to warn you. If you want to go and get torched, be my guest."

Naomi and I walked past him and strode across the bridge, carefully keeping ourselves away from the mines placed on it. It would have been nice of the NCR guard to warn us about them, but I let it get past. No point in pissing off the NCR too. At least, not yet. We made our way to the casino entered, and were immediately greeted with an elderly man with a gun in his hand.

"Hold it there!" he said, getting a good look at us. "...Wait a minute." he added, lowering the gun and raising an eyebrow. "Couriers. I remember you two. Name's Johnson Nash. You picked a bad time to come back to Primm, youngsters; town's gone to hell."

I vaguely remembered the man, but I still wanted to know more."You remember us?" I asked, a question to which he nodded.

"The Express hired seven couriers to carry some odd packages from Primm to New Vegas. A pair of fuzzy dice, a chess piece, a poker chip, you name it. I remember all of you that I hired, especially that bastard that was supposed to carry your chip before he backed out." Nash replied. That last bit of information caught my interest.

"Someone else took the job before me?" I asked.

Nash nodded. "Tall fella, dark skin and dreadlocked hair. Took one look at your name on the list and immediately refused to carry it. 'Let Courier Six carry the package' he said, and up and left. Didn't even get a chance to record his name or anything for the records. Bastard. I hope a storm from the Divide skins him alive."

I was curious about the list. Perhaps with the names of the other couriers, I could find out more about the situation should I ever encounter them. "Can I see the list of the Couriers?" I asked.

Nash shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't really matter anymore. The Primm branch of the Express is finished if we don't get our town back. Here, take it." he said, handing me a paper. I read over the names, only recognizing my own and Naomi's. The list read as follows;

Courier 1 - Kain Lockheart, caucasian male, 32 y/o, ex-NCR infantryman - Bronze Bishop

Courier 2 - Mako Hollander, african american male, 28 y/o, mercenary - Silver King

Courier 3 - Naomi Hawke, asian female, 20 y/o, ex-tribal scout - Golden Rook

Courier 4 - Daniel Wyand, african american male, 26 y/o, lifelong courier - Fuzzy Dice

Courier 5 - ? (Left premises before records could be taken. Package given to Courier 6.)

Courier 6 - Frost Valentio, caucasian male, 24 y/o, courier - Platinum Chip

Courier 7 - Vincent Grey, hispanic male, 33 y/o, New Vegas Strip bodyguard - Steel Lighter

I handed the list to Naomi and recorded what it said on my Pip-Boy for future reference. "Recognize the names?" I asked her.

Naomi shook her head. "Only yours and my own."

Johnson sighed. "Well, sorry I couldn't be more help. And I hate to ask you this, but we need a favor."

"Does it involve taking out the convicts?" I asked. "That's what we rolled through to do, honestly."

"It's probably gonna involve that." Nash replied. "Our town deputy, Deputy Beagle, got taken by the gang. They're all holed up in the Steve Bison Hotel across the street. If you could rescue Beagle, we'd be mighty grateful. Might have a few spare caps to give out to you, too."

Well, I wasn't going to _ask_ for caps, but hey, he offered. "Alright then, Mr. Nash." I said, shaking his hand. "Naomi and I will be back in just a bit. Thanks again."

Naomi nodded and made for the door ahead of me, and we both arrived at the Hotel. I drew my repeater and she selected her shotgun for use in close quarters, and after a mutual nod we kicked the doors open.

Immediately we were greeted with alarmed shouting and the drawing of guns. I immediately dove for cover against an overturned desk and looked around. Naomi had taken cover behind an old reception desk and immediately began leaning out to fire her shotgun.

I decided to do the same and leaned out, ducking as a chunk of the desk was blown away by a convict's gun. In the heat of the moment I couldn't tell what he had, but it didn't matter as he was quickly hit in the face with shotgun pellets. I followed up Naomi's shot with a shot of my own, catching a second convict in the chest.

I could hear orders being barked out loud by another convict. There was a chain of command, that was for sure, and it was in our best interest to go after whoever was at the head of it. Taking a risk, I dove out of cover and took a clean shot at the third and last convict in the room, catching him in between the eyes and dropping him in an instant. Naomi peered out from her cover and stood, ready to move on.

I signaled Naomi to follow and headed down a hall, gun at the ready. We turned around a doorway and came into a large room with a campfire lit, with an entire brahmin being roasted over it. Suddenly I heard more running, and from beyond another door came three more Powder Gangers, one of them armed with a large incinerator. "SHIT!" I yelled, grabbing Naomi's collar and leaping out of the room, taking her with me. We both hit the ground hard, but successfully dodged the incoming fireballs that hit the wall of the hall. Naomi looked up at me with wide eyes and a surprised look and scrambled to her feet, switching to her pistol for the advantage of range.

The convict with the incinerator cackled as he launched more flame in our direction. With the constant barrage of fire, we couldn't find a good opportunity to lean out. I briefly considered running and trying to get the fight onto our own terms, but with the ability to burn down anything we hid behind, the convicts would indefinitely have the advantage. The fire was quickly spreading and it was clear that the convict leader was less interested in killig us and more interested in causing as much damage and destruction as possible.

The other two gangers entered the hall and fired at me, catching me twice in my arm, which was thankfully padded by my leather armor. In retaliation, I rapidly pressed the trigger and rifled him full of bullets, while Naomi blew off the other's leg with her shotgun. It was just us and their leader now, surrounded by what was now a burning building.

"Come on out, fuckers, so I can burn you to death!" he shouted. Down the hall, a blazing wooden beam fell from the ceiling, which gave me an idea.

"Naomi!" I called. "Try to get a shot at him. Get his attention off of me. Just for a moment. Don't leave yourself open for too long. I've got a plan."

She looked at me with fear in her eyes, but nodded and drew her pistols. Barely leaning out of cover, she fired a few shots at the heavily armored convict, all of which put little more than dents in his metal armor. He began focusing his blasts on her side of the doorway, meaning I only had a few moments before she was burned alive.

Stepping out of cover, I activated VATS and aimed at a section of the ceiling, firing as many times as I could. As I had hoped, the section of wooden ceiling fell, taking some concrete with it, and crushed the convict. Naomi slumped against the wall, panting.

"We need to get Beagle and get out of here before the place goes up in smoke!" I shouted as I went to her and helped her up. She silently nodded and followed me through the room, heading to what was apparently the kitchen. Kneeling and bound was a man with white hair and leather armor, whom I could only assume was Beagle. He turned his head and immediately began pleading for us to untie him and get him out of there. I drew my combat knife, sliced his bindings, and helped him to his feet, urging him to get a move on.

Beagle pointed us to an emergency exit at the end of the kitchen, which I proceeded to kick open. All three of us ran out of the Hotel and got as far away as we could, hoping to escape any debris from the flames or remaining convicts.

"Well that was a mighty fine adventure." Beagle said after we caught our breath. "I appreciate you two aiding my daring escape, but now it's time to find a new sherriff for the town."

His demeanor had already pissed me off. Daring escape? He would have burned to death without us! "What the hell are you talking about, Beagle? You _are _the sherriff now!"

The deputy threw his hands up. "Whoa now, I am the dedicated deputy already. I have to devote my skills to my deputy duties. There are others who can take over as sherriff."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Who do you have in mind?"

"Well, there's always the option of getting the NCR to install a sherriff. Lots of folks wouldn't be too happy about that though. The NCR would roll through and treat the place like a territory." Beagle responded. He was right, the NCR had the tendency to claim places as their own whether the people liked it or not. "It's that, or maybe you can go find a fella named Meyers at the NCRCF. He used to be a sherriff, he might take the job."

I nodded. "Alright. We'll take a break for the night and work on it tomorrow." I told him, nodding to Naomi.

Beagle sighed. "Fine. Just don't take too long. A lone deputy can only do so much."

Naomi and I took refuge in the V&V Casino that night, with food and drink courtesy of Nash in honor of driving out the Powder Gangers. We didn't stay up that long to enjoy it, however; we were both exhausted, and though I had much to ask her following the battle in the hotel, I let sleep take me first. There would be time for talking in the morning.


End file.
